Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The click of the locker room door closing behind Jack Zimmermann is barely audible over the din his teammates are making, but that subtle click sends a shiver of relief up Jack’s spine as he weaves his way through his ecstatic teammates. Meeting the press after games will never be one of his favorite activities, particularly on the road where he doesn’t know the local beat writers very well. He doesn’t find the press nearly as stressful a year and a half into his NHL career as he had when he had first entered the league as a big-name, bigger-expectation rookie, but the post-game interview is still stressful with all the tape recorders that get shoved in face in tight hallways. By the time he manages to sink tiredly into his locker stall, his pulse rate has started to calm back down, but he still spends a few minutes staring at his hands and focuses on his breathing.

A giant hand landing heavily on his head jerks him from his thoughts a moment later. Jack smiles and tries to shave Tater off him, but he ends up getting his hair ruffled enthusiastically despite his best efforts.

“Good game tonight, Zimmboni!”

“Thanks, Tater. You too,” Jack replies, laughing even as he tries to push him away. It takes a minute, but Tater moves on eventually; Jack watches with a smile as Tater heads over to start wrestling with Snowy in the corner. All his teammates are a bit more rambunctious tonight. Of course, any night you beat the Aces in their arena is a good night, but tonight is a little more special than just a win against a big rival. It’s the Falcs’ fourth win in a row and a great start to a long five game Western conference road trip. The team is starting to play really great hockey just at the right time; they will need to work hard to keep this momentum going if they want to be a serious contender for the Cup this year.

Jack starts pulling his gear off, only half listening to relentless flow of chirps around him. Once he’s down to just his UnderArmor, he pulls his phone out of his duffle bag and sits down for a minute to go through his notifications before he hits the shower. His brow furrows slightly as he starts to scroll through the list. There is the normal assortment of post-game texts and messages from family and friends - but one group is suspiciously quiet. He flips over to the group chat just to check, but no, there have been no new messages on the old SMH group text since early afternoon. They had a game tonight as well – a late-season matchup with Quinnipiac that would most likely determine their post-season seeding. But that game should have ended a couple of hours ago and even if they had lost the game, his former teammates could never stay away from the chat for very long once they back in the locker room.

Jack’s frown grows for a minute before he goes searching for the NCAA app on his phone to check the score. But just as the splash screen finishes loading, Jack’s hears someone shout his name from across the room. Jack looks up to see Brandon Matthews, one of the offensive coaches, standing in the doorway.

“Can I see you for a minute, Zimms?”

“Sure thing, Coach,” Jack puts his phone back in his stall before following him out of the locker room and down the hallway, forgetting about the SMH group chat situation for a moment. What could Coach Matthews want? He can’t be about to be traded; the trading deadline has already passed - and he has a concrete no-trade clause anyway. And Coach can’t be mad about tonight’s game, can he? Jack scored twice and had an assist tonight and had even managed to steal First Star honors from Parse. Parse's glare from across the ice as Jack had joined the scrum of players leaving the ice had been particularly satisfying.

Coach Matthews opens one of the doors down the hallway and ushers Jack into one of the small, nondescript visiting coaches offices that dot this section of the building. A small knot of tension starts to form in his stomach as he realizes Coach Matthews seems to be nervous about whatever he needs to talk with Jack about. But Jack has no idea what it could be. The game could not have gone any better; they hadn't even had any minor injuries to worry about.

“What’s up, Coach?” Jack hides his growing anxiety as best he can, but he’s sure that Coach can pick it up anyway.

“Jack..” Matthews starts but stops again almost immediately. Jack’s stomach tightens even more. He and Coach Matthews have a really good relationship, or so Jack thinks. They’ve worked together one-on-one on a regular basis for almost two years now, ever since Jack officially joined the team. He’s one of the main reasons Jack’s transition to the NHL has been so smooth, for both the team and Jack.

“Sorry,” Coach Matthews starts again, his voice sounding somewhat constricted, almost as if he has to force this out against his will. “Jack… I don’t even know how to tell you this. But something serious has happened that you need to know about.”

“It’s not my dad, is it?” He stutters out, the panic growing in his chest. His dad is in good shape - for a former hockey player. But Jack knows better than anyone that doesn’t mean something couldn't happen suddenly, especially with all the attention going towards head injuries lately. Early in his career, Bad Bob hadn’t even needed to wear a helmet, after all.

“No, it’s nothing to do with your parents,” Coach answers quickly, which settles the panic a little, but only until the next words come out of his mouth. “Have you talked to anyone from Samwell since their game tonight?”

“No,” Jack says, shaking his head slowly as his heart clenched painfully. “I had just looked at my phone for the first time all night when you called me in here. The chat has been silent for hours now.” Jack watches as Coach Matthews swallows nervously, the panic rearing its ugly head even more and then all the pieces click into place. Jack can hardly breathe as he struggles to form the words he needs to ask.

“It’s Bitty, isn’t it?” Coach Matthews stares at him, looking non-plussed at Jack’s question. But it’s the only situation that makes sense. Eventually, he nods slightly and Jack feels himself start to slip into the start of what feels like a full-blown panic attack. “What….happened….to….Bitty?” Jack manages to whisper haltingly around the tightening of his throat.

“It was a freak accident,” Coach Matthews said, his own voice sounding just as constricted. It must have been really bad if a NHL veteran is this shaken, Jack thinks idly as he tries to focus around the buzzing in his ears. “Near the end of the second period, Eric was checked hard behind the goal. As he hit the ice, his helmet came off.” Jack swayed slightly, his mind flashing back to three years ago – standing there staring in horror as Bitty didn’t get up after Jack had sent him directly into the path of a goon, his helmet bouncing uselessly across the ice.

“There’s more, Jack,” Coach Matthews continues softly. He’s obviously picked up on Jack’s growing panic. “As his helmet came off… he caught the blade of a skate.” Jack staggers backwards, reaching for the wall, bile rising up in his throat as he pictures the screen. “It managed to slip under his pads and catch the side of neck down by the shoulder. It was a deep cut – but not life threatening, Jack.”

“What... How….’ He can’t even form a sentence. There are dozens of questions swirling around in his head and he can’t even ask the simplest of them. But fortunately, Coach Matthews seems to know what he’s trying to ask. A gentle hand on his shoulder guides him backwards, until his back connects with the wall.

“The skate blade caught him on the side of the neck just as his helmet was coming off. He’s fortunate it was on the side of his neck - less chance of hitting any major arteries. They were able to get the bleeding stopped on the way to the hospital, but he did lose a lot of blood and needed a lot of stitches. He’s in serious but stable condition, according to the information that George has gotten from the coaching staff at Samwell.”

“I need …” to make sure he’s fine, Jack means to say, but the words just won’t come out. His brain has almost gone completely offline under the swell of his panic. His eyes close against his will and he can barely take a full breath. He hasn’t had a panic attack this severe in years. He’s glad he hasn’t seen a picture of Bitty laying still in a puddle of blood on the ice; his imagination is painting a vivid-enough picture as it is. His hands tangle themselves in his hair as he tries to calm his racing thoughts and heart - but no amount of pulling is able to bring him back from the edge.

A soft knock on the door barely penetrates the panic; Jack can’t shake the panic enough to even think about looking to see who’s there. He’s vaguely aware of someone else entering the room, but he keeps staring at his shoes as he struggles to breathe. The whispered conversation is easy to ignore; it’s taking everything that Jack possesses to keep from blacking out or vomiting. Maybe it’s a minute later and maybe an hour has passed, but the click of the door closing manages to pierce the ringing in his head and Jack feels a hand grab his shoulder. He finally manages to crack his eyes open and sees Coach Matthews standing next to him, deep lines of concern etched into his face and an unfamiliar phone clutched in his hand.

“George is on the phone for you,” he says quietly. “Should I put it on speaker, or do you want privacy?” Jack just reaches down to the screen and punches the speaker button. He’s shaking so badly he doesn’t think he can manage to hold a phone right now.

“George?” he croaks out as the speaker crackles a bit. He’s not even sure George can hear him.

“Jack, are you OK? I know this has been a shock.” George comes across loud and clear; she sound fairly calm, which helps Jack a little. He makes a sort of squeak, but luckily George doesn’t really wait for him to answer. “I talked with Coach Hall a few minutes ago. They took Eric into surgery immediately to stitch up the cut; he’s still in surgery and probably will be for at least another hour. I don’t have any other details– you know they can’t give those out to anyone other than his designated contacts. Coach Hall did say that he would call you directly if Eric’s situation changes.” Jack breathes a sigh of relief. His relationship with Bitty has been an open secret for both teams for more than a year now. Neither team had raised any objections about including Jack and Bitty as each other’s emergency contacts. But there’s something else that Jack needs right now; information is all good – but there’s just no way he can stay here in Vegas.

“George, I’m really sorry – but I think I need…” Jack starts, wincing a little as the seriousness of the situation hits him. He needs to be with Bitty, but there are several key games on this road trip that the team really needs him for over the next week. With even a little luck, they could clinch a playoff spot on this road trip; he can’t just abandon the team. But they aren’t due back in Providence until a week from tomorrow. That feels like three eternities right about now.

“Jack, of course you need to go! It’s not even a question.” George cuts across him as Jack struggles to speak more than a few words at a time in his panic. “I believe one of the trainers is talking to Marty and Thirdy while someone else is packing your gear for you. There’s a red-eye to Boston that leaves just after midnight local time. If my math is right - that’s just about an hour and a half from now. Eric was taken to the Quinnipiac University hospital; it’s not the best hospital in the region - but it was the closest to the arena. It’s a couple hours drive from Logan to the hospital, but it’s still the closest we can get you on a direct flight.” Jack feels his panic leave him slightly. He’s never been more grateful that George is his boss.

“Thank you,” he breathes out, pinching his eyes closed as tears threaten. “You are a life-saver, George.” Her rich chuckle fills the air and Jack almost feels like smiling.

“You hang in there, kiddo. Get to the airport and get on that flight. I’ll meet you at Logan in a couple of hours. If I hear anything while you are in the air, I’ll email it to you.” The silence feels pretty oppressive as Jack disconnects the call; he can feel Coach Matthew's concerned gaze on him as he stares down at the phone - he’s not even sure whose it is. He doesn’t even see the phone, not really; he can only see Bitty’s helmet bouncing down the ice, with a circle of red-stained ice growing behind it.

A hand clasping down on his shoulder makes Jack jump and look around; he takes a deep breath as he realizes that Coach Matthew is still standing beside him, worry etched deeply into his face.

“Nate is getting your personal stuff together for you. Do you want to take a shower before you head to the airport?”

Jack’s first instinct is to refuse, to just get to the airport as soon as possible - but then practicality intercedes. He just finished playing a hockey game; he stinks. They probably won’t even let him onto the airplane if he shows up smelling this badly. He nods at Coach Matthews and takes a couple of deep breaths before heading back towards the locker room. As he cracks the door open, a hush falls over the room. Jack keeps his head down and heads straight for the showers, not bothering to even look at any of his teammates on the way. Marty and Thirdy must have spread the word, since no one tries to speak with him or asks what is going on.

Jack takes the quickest shower possible; as much as the hot water helps relax him slightly, he’s constantly aware that he doesn’t have much time if he’s going to get on the plane. So barely ten minutes pass before Jack is throwing on his game day suit jacket and rushing back through the locker room. His hair is still wet and his dress shirt is stuck to his back, but he honestly doesn’t care. He’s trying to plan the best way to find a taxi at the arena when he runs into a solid wall of hockey players - Marty, Thirdy, Guy and Tater are all waiting for him. Jack just stands there and gapes at them for a minute, not sure what to say. He’s never seen the four of them look so serious - not even those few games where the team had just been completely out of sync earlier this season.

“Hang in there, kiddo,” Marty finally breaks the silence, an odd hitch in his voice that Jack has never heard before. He clasps Jack’s shoulder with one hand while handing over

“Thanks,” Jack whispers, suddenly choked by the lump that mysteriously appeared in his throat. “Guys - I don’t know..”

“Jack - just go,” Thirdy interrupts. “We’ll see you when you get back with the team.” Jack’s so pathetically relieved that he hugs each of them. He doesn’t think he can find the words to tell them what their support means to him. Just as Tater is almost suffocating him in a bear hug, the sound of a nervous throat clearing makes Jack pull away slightly and look down the hallway. Jack stares at the newcomer for a while before his brain accepts that Parse is really standing there, paler than usual and without his customary wisecrack to break the tension.

“I, uh, heard what happened,” Parse says, awkwardly shuffling as he speaks. Jack just nods his head; he doesn’t know what he would say even if he could find his voice. “I checked with our someone in our front office; they said to tell you that our concierge car is waiting in the player parking deck to take you to the airport. Definitely faster than trying to find a cab.”

Jack clears his throat repeatedly, trying to speak. He’s not really sure why he’s on the verge of crying, just because someone he used to be in love with is being nice to him. He stares at Parse, just trying to process everything that is happening, but it all feels insurmountable at the moment.

“Thanks, Kenny,” he finally replies in little more than a whisper. “I appreciate it.” With that, he grabs the duffel bag that Marty holds out and follows Kenny down the hallway, his mind still reeling.

Chapter Text

Forty minutes later, Jack is striding through McCarren Airport, his eyes trained on the back of the airport official in front of him as they head towards his departure gate. He’s not sure how the Aces managed it, but not only did they have their concierge drive him here, they arranged for a police escort to help get him through the insane Vegas traffic that clogged the streets in every direction. To Jack’s amazement, that hadn’t been the end of everything the Aces had done for him. Jack had been dropped off right next to a smiling man in a sharp suit who introduced himself as Alex, a director of Hospitality for the airport. Jack didn’t know what that job entailed, but he was certainly impressed with the man’s efficiency. Alex had whisked him through the airport in record time, including bringing him to the one TSA precheck line that somehow didn’t have a huge line of people waiting.

Jack is incredibly grateful for Alex’s help; he can barely think over the panic in his head and the noise in the airport is only making it worse. Most airports are far from quiet but the background din inside McCarren is worse than almost any other airport he’s been in. Not only is there the non-stop tinny announcements over the loudspeaker and loud conversations from people talking to their companions or on their phones, there’s also non-stop ringing from the slot machines that are crowded into every available open space. The oppressive wall of sound around him makes Jack feel like he’s going to jump out of his skin. It’s also far more crowded than an airport has a right to be at quarter after eleven at night. Jack has a logo-free snap back pulled low over his eyes and his suit helps him blend into the other businessmen rushing to get flights, but even so, he’s aware of a quite a few people who seem to be staring at him as he rushes past. He starts silently begging that no one will ask him for an autograph or a selfie right now; he’s not sure he could find fan-friendly mode right now if his life depended on it. Fortunately as they near the gate, Alex leads him to a darkened doorway on the side of the concourse.

“You can wait in here, Mr. Zimmermann,” Alex says once he has the door unlocked and flicked on a few light switches. Jack walks into the room, scanning the empty but well-appointed lounge with relief. “Your plane boards in about twenty minutes - I’ll come back and collect you when they start the boarding process.”

Jack thanks him and tries to take a couple of deep breaths once the door clicks behind him. Fortunately, the room seems to be decently sound-proofed because the din from outside has completely disappeared. He’s pretty sure he would be physically ill if he had to sit out in the corridor right now; his head feels like it’s going to split with tension and his stomach feels like it’s been tied in a never-ending string of knots over the last hour. As he's looking around the room, Jack notices that there is an array of snacks set out on a table in the corner. It’s been hours since he ate anything and he considers grabbing something, but his stomach rebels at the thought of food so Jack heads over towards the wall of windows on the far side of the room.

Jack spends a few minutes just breathing in the silence, staring through the window at the darkened tarmac outside. The roar of plane engines is muffled by the thick glass and Jack loses himself just watching the nonstop activity as airport workers hustle about. The silence is suddenly broken by his phone ringing. It takes a couple of rings before Jack even recognizes the noise. He fumbles the phone for a second trying to answer when he sees it’s his dad.

“Hey, Papa,” he answers, automatically switching over to French as he answers the call.

“Jack!” His father sounds more stressed than Jack has heard in quite some time. “I just saw what happened at Eric’s game! Where are you? Are you OK?”

“I’m at McCarren airport, Papa; George got me a ticket on the red-eye to Boston.” Jack swallows heavily before continuing. “I'm not really sure how I'm doing; I don't know much of anything right now. I don’t know how Bitty is doing. George said he was taken to the Quinnipiac University hospital for emergency surgery, but that’s all she knew. I haven’t heard from Coach Hall at all, I don’t know if I should call him. I thought about calling Bitty’s parents but what if they haven't been told yet?”

Jack’s stomach clenches even more at the thought of Bitty’s parents. What happens if he runs into them at the hospital? He knows the school will have contacted them by now; they are officially Bitty’s emergency contacts after all. So they will probably come up as soon as possible. How will they take Jack being there? Bitty hasn’t told them that they are dating or even officially come out to his parents. Jack and Bitty have talked about it, obviously, but Bitty decided to wait until after the season was over, closer to his graduation before telling them. Jack wasn’t sure putting it off would make it easier, but that wasn’t really his call.

“I’m glad I caught you before your plane takes off,” his father admits shakily. “If you haven’t seen the video, please don’t watch it Jack. It’s not … just please don’t watch it.” Jack hadn’t thought it possible but his stomach clenches even tighter as he hears the shock in his voice that his dad can’t quite hide. If even Bad Bob Zimmermann, hockey legend who played through dozens of injuries, was freaked out by what happened, just how bad was it? But his dad continues before his thoughts spin completely out of control. “Do you need anything? How can your mother and I help you?”

“I don’t know,” Jack admits, hanging his head from the stress. “I don’t know when he’s going to get out of surgery or how long he’s going to need to be in the hospital. Or what happens to the rest of his season.”

“Should we come down?” Bob asks, sounding a little hesitant.

“Not yet, I guess?” Jack guesses. “I don’t know how long Bitty is going to be unconscious or in the hospital. I’m sure Coach and Suzanne have been informed, but I don’t know when they’ll be able to get up there. I don’t know how many people Bitty is going to want hovering over him.”

“Do they know about..” Bob trails off as if unsure how to ask the question, but Jack has a feeling he knows what his dad is asking.

“No, he hasn’t told them yet,” Jack admits sadly. “He’s tried a few times but it never seems like the right moment. Fuck, what about when I run into them at the hospital? They are going to suspect something, aren’t they? Why would someone who’s just a friend fly across country in the middle of the night when their team is on a roadie?” The panic swirls up again as his deepest fears spill out of him. He bites his lip to stop the flow and struggles to breathe. He can’t fall apart right now.

“Jack, it’s not like you are a stranger,” his father reminds him. “You were Eric’s captain for two years. You helped him get through his fear of checking. Plus, you’ve spent time at their house and they know Eric’s spent time at your apartment, right? So maybe it won’t be as much of a surprise as you think. But try not to worry about it too much.” There’s a dry chuckle down the line. “I know, I know. That’s far easier to say than do - but try not to borrow trouble.” His dad sighs again and the line is quiet for a minute before he dad continues.

“We’ll stay in Montreal until we hear from you. The last thing you and Eric need right now is the crush that will happen if we show up. We can always come down and take care of Eric once you have to rejoin the team if his parents have to go back to Georgia.” Jack feels a rush of relief. His relationship with his parents is in a good place now, helped out a lot by Bitty, but he doesn’t think having hockey royalty and a movie star/model descend on a small university hospital is a good idea for any of them. Jack and Bob talk for a few minutes more, trying to chat about the Aces’ game, but Jack’s mind really isn’t in on the conversation. His phone beeping with another call makes him pull the handset away from his ear.

“Papa, I should go. I have another call,” They say goodbye quickly and Jack promises to keep them informed when he knows more about Bitty. He disconnects the call and frowns at the screen - he doesn’t recognize the unfamiliar number but it’s from a Massachusetts number at least. Hoping it’s not a reporter who managed to find his personal number (it’s happened before, after all), Jack takes a deep breath as pushes the talk button. “Hello?”

“Hi Jack. This is Coach Hall.” Jack’s breathe catches in his throat as his anxiety spikes. He can hear what sounds like hospital noises in the background.

“Hi Coach. What’s going on? How is he?” Jack knows he sounds pushy and rude, but he really doesn’t have it in him to care. He can be polite when he knows what’s going on with Bitty. Coach Hall sighs deeply before he answers and Jack’s nerves spike yet again as he waits for Coach Hall to answer.

“Well, Eric is still in surgery. It was a really deep cut and it’s going to need a lot of stitches. He’s extremely lucky; because the blade hit on the side of his neck, it missed the major arteries and his spinal cord. But the wound is deep and they are going to have to watch for infections and he’s going to need a lot of rehab.”

“When is he going to be out of surgery? Have you called his parents yet?” The questions come tumbling out of Jack’s mouth faster than he can think.

“The surgeon was just stepped out of the operating room to update me. He’s going to be in for at least another hour as they make sure the wound is really clean and stitched well. With all the muscle that was cut, it’s going to take a lot of stitches to make sure the wound heals well. And yes, I called his mom and dad. They are flying up first thing in the morning; they couldn't make the last flight from Atlanta to Boston tonight.”

“I’m on my way,” Jack admits quietly, his voice strangled under the mental picture of Bitty waking up alone and scared in a strange hospital room. “Georgia Martin got me on a red-eye from Vegas and she said she’ll meet me at Logan so I can go straight to Quinnipiac. I think I should be there before 10.”

“That sounds good, son,” Coach Hall replies and Jack is extremely glad there’s no questioning about why he isn’t staying with his team. Coach Hall knows, obviously, but still. His team didn’t even blink at him leaving, but not everyone in the sports world will be OK with Jack just dropping everything and rushing across the country. “If Eric wakes up before you get here, we’ll make sure he knows you are on the way. See you in a few hours.”

Jack thanks Coach Hall again before hanging up the phone. He leans forward, his forehead pressing against the window and tries to control his breathing - but he can’t manage to get his heart to stop racing. There’s just so much panic in his head he can’t get it to quiet down. After struggling for a minute, he stumbles over to the seat where he dropped his bag and starts digging frantically in the side pocket.

It takes a minute, but his fingers finally close around the small bottle of lorazepam that travels with him at all times. He’d been hesitant when his psychiatrist first suggested he always have the pills with him - it seemed like a weakness or a crutch that would hold him back. A constant reminder of how low his anxiety had brought him. But after a panic attack during a roadie his freshman year at Samwell that he hadn’t been able to overcome for a full day, he had changed his mind. Out of habit, Jack checks the expiration date on the bottle; it’s been over a year since he’s needed to take any of the pills but they are still good for quite a while yet.

Jack's panic level tonight is unlike anything Jack has felt in years. The closest comparison he can make is that he feels a lot like how he used to feel when he was in the Q - stress and worries pressing in on him from all sides and people everywhere just waiting to declare him a failure. Maybe no one is waiting to declare him a failure tonight, but there’s certainly people who will be questioning his toughness when word gets out that he’s left the team at this crucial juncture. Jack looks around and breathes a sigh of relief when he spots a beverage cooler in the corner that is fully stocked. Jack grabs a bottle of water and cracks the seal on the cap; idly he wonders what a bottle of water goes for in a lounge like this, but honestly he can’t really bring himself to care. Just as he finished swallowing the pill, a knock sounds on the door and Jack looks over his shoulder as Alex pops his head into the room.

“The plane is boarding now, Mr. Zimmermann.” Jack nods and grabs his duffel bag from the chair before heading back out into the hallway. The wall of sound feels like a brick wall as he walks back out onto the concourse. He doesn’t know how - but it feels like the noise is even louder now than it was before. Jack hears a shout as they head towards the gate and he looks over his shoulder; they are walking past a sports bar and the patrons are reacting to what looks like hockey highlights on the various televisions. Jack looks away, speeds up his step and forces himself not to look back, no matter what noises he hears from the crowd. He’s sure that under normal circumstances, college hockey highlights from the Boston area would never make the national news, but tonight has been anything but normal. Normal life doesn't usually include a gruesome, potentially life-threatening injury. He speeds up again, almost walking into Alex's back as he tries to make sure he doesn't see video of what happened to Bitty. Fortunately, between the crowds on the concourse and their speed, Jack and Alex leave the areas with TVs pretty quickly and his gate is just past the restaurant. There isn't a huge crowd of people around the gate, so Jack assumes most of the other passengers have already bordered, which is a good thing. He doesn't want to stand here waiting for his turn, on display for everyone else boarding this flight.

“Thank you for all your help,” he says, reaching out to shake Alex’s hand. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“It was my pleasure, Mr. Zimmermann.” Alex smiles and turns to walk away, but Jack stares after him for a minute, watching as he walks back down the concourse. He has no idea if Alex knows who he is beyond a name or why he was asked to help Jack tonight. Of course, helping an athlete through an airport might be one of the tamer things he’s been asked to do for a customer; Vegas was renowned for excess after all.

Ten minutes later, Jack settles back into his seat and pulls the blanket over him as the plane begins to backup from the gate. He breathes a sigh of relief that so far, this nightmare trip is at least going as smoothly as possible. He’s even got an empty seat next to him up in first class, a huge relief because he’s pretty sure he might start screaming if he had someone trying to make idle chitchat to him the whole flight. As the plane taxis into the queue to take off, the lorazepam has kicked in enough to start calming his mind and he leans back in the chair, hat pulled down low and closes his eyes, hoping he could find some sleep to help the time pass more quickly.

Chapter Text

Jack breathes a huge sigh of relief as the plane finally bumps its way onto the tarmac at Logan. That had been one of the worst flights he can ever remember taking and not just because he had been on the verge of a panic attack the entire time. The lorazepam had only been moderately effective, keeping the worst of the panic at bay but not strong enough to quiet his whirling mind. As a result, it had taken quite a while for him to even get close to sleeping and by then they had been approaching a large storm front somewhere over the middle of the country. The turbulence had been strong enough to force the flight attendants to their seats; by the time they had reached calmer air, the plane had been less than an hour from Boston and Jack just gave up trying to sleep.

He stares out the window as the plane begins to taxi to the terminal, his phone in his hand just waiting for the signal that it was OK to turn it back on. George had promised to email him if there was more information, but some glitch in system had meant the onboard WIFI had been unavailable for the entire flight. So for the last five plus hours, Jack has been in the dark literally and figuratively which certainly hadn’t helped his anxiety levels at all. Finally, the crackle of the intercom breaks the expectant silence on the airplane.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we will be pulling up to the terminal in just a few minutes, once some traffic in front of us clears out. Thank you for flying with us tonight and we hope you will travel with us again soon. At this time, you can turn on your phones and other electronic devices but please remain in your seats until we have arrived at the terminal and the gangway is in place.”

Within seconds, Jack has flicked his phone out of airplane mode and waits impatiently as his phone connects to the network. Before he can silence it, the phone starts pinging loudly as all sorts of notifications cascade across the screen. He flicks a guilty glance at the people near him as he rushes to turn the volume down but fortunately no one seems to be glaring or muttering at him; they are all too focused on their own phones to worry about what his is doing. When his phone has been off during games, he normally has dozens of text messages waiting for him. But this morning the notifications are flashing up on the screen and disappearing before he can even see who sent them. And it just keeps going; the influx of notifications doesn’t stop until the plane is almost up to the terminal.

As soon as his phone stops flashing up new notifications, Jack finds his emails and scans his inbox. His heart catches in his throat when he sees an email from George sitting there at the top of the list.

Jack - I will be waiting in the cell phone lot at Logan when your plane lands. I haven’t heard anything new from the team. Call when you are off the plane and I’ll pick you up at Arrivals. Keep your head up, kid. George

Jack takes a deep breath. Is that good news or bad that George didn’t have any more information? Before Jack could worry too much, the plane bumps to a stop and everyone around him starts to get up and gather all their things together. Jack is in the second row of seats in the front of the plane, so luckily it doesn’t take more than a minute before he has his duffel bag in hand and he’s almost running up the gang plank. At the top of the ramp, he takes a minute to look at the signs on the wall before he’s hurrying off, his phone already to his ear.

“Hi Jack!” George answers on the the first ring. “You’ve landed?”

“Yeah, I just got off the plane. I’m heading towards the pick up area now.”

“Great. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

“I just got your email - have you still heard nothing? There wasn’t any WIFI on the flight so I couldn’t even text any of the guys.”

“I still haven’t heard from the coaches, but local sports radio has had some updates. I’ll fill you when I pick you up. I’m probably about 10 minutes away.”

“OK,” Jack replies, swallowing nervously. He wants to stop and demand she tell him everything right this instant, but George really doesn’t deserve that kind of interrogation right now. She’s been fantastic throughout this nightmare so far so he really shouldn’t yell at her. He can wait another couple of minutes. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Jack hangs up the phone and stares down at his home screen for a second, trying to gather himself. He needs to look calm and collected; he’s in Boston, the likelihood of him being recognized here is much higher than in Vegas. After a second, he ducks into a nearby bathroom and splashes some water on his face before staring at himself in the mirror. His hair is all over the place from trying to sleep on the plane and he’s looking particularly ragged. There isn’t too much he can do about it though, so he just shoves his hat back on his head and heads back onto the concourse.

Three minutes later, after some questionable passing maneuvers on the moving walkways, Jack steps outside on the curb in the arrival area, keeping an eye out for George’s car while flicking through his messages. He’s got a surprising number of text messages from players around the league offering their thoughts and prayers; Jack stares down at his phone feeling more than a little overwhelmed - he honestly didn’t think that many people in the league knew about his relationship with Bitty (or that half of these guys even had his phone number). But it’s obvious that it’s spread further than just the Falconers. His voice mail box also looks like it’s full of messages from the last few hours, but Jack doesn’t think it’s a good idea to start listening to those just yet. Not until he knows Bitty is going to be OK.

He peeks at the SMH group chat, but it’s still eerily quiet. There were a few fairly lame attempts at jokes over the last few hours, but that’s it. There’s no chirping, no hyping each other up for their next game, or even moaning about the refs last night. Are they all huddled in a waiting room at the hospital or did the coaches send them back to Samwell? He takes a deep breath before typing out a quick message.

Hey guys. I just landed in Boston - going to head to the hospital now. What’s going on? Have you heard anything?

Jack takes a deep breath as he hits send. He’s not sure what the team could tell him that George couldn’t, but he feels like he should tell them he’s here and on the way. There doesn’t appear to be an immediate response from anyone and that doesn’t help his nerves at all. The chance that no one on the team is looking at the group chat at any particular moment is pretty slim.

But just then a car horn honks close by and he looks up in time to see George’s car pulling smoothly up to the curb right next to him. Jack has the door open as soon as she’s unlocked it.

“Hey Jack! Throw your bag in the back and we’ll get on the road.” Jack throws his duffel onto the back seat and as soon as he has his seat belt on, George is pulling away from the curb and following the signs to I-90 west. Once they’ve cleared the traffic around the airport, George hands Jack a paper bag. “I picked up breakfast for you. I’m sure you haven’t eaten anything and it’s 2 hours to Quinnipiac.” Jack isn’t sure he can eat since his stomach is still tied in knots, but as he opens the bag, his stomach actually growls as he gets sight of the egg-white sandwich inside.

“George, I can’t thank you enough for all this,” Jack says as he takes a bite of the sandwich. He’s expecting his stomach to rebel, but instead it just grumbles loudly again. He doesn’t miss George’s smirk and his lips twist in a wry smile. “I know this is a strain on the team and all.”

“I’d do exactly the same for anyone else on the team if their partner was seriously injured. We mean it when we say we stand behind you.” Jack has to swallow quickly, not because of the sandwich but over the lump in his throat. He’s known since before he signed that George was unique in the business, but every time he’s reminded of it, he gets a little choked up.

“So you said the news had some details? I sent a message on the team group chat as you pulled up to let them know I was coming, but I haven’t tried calling Coach Hall or anyone yet.”

“WEEI has been featuring the story in their on-the-hour news updates. They said a little bit ago that he’s in stable condition according to sources. No clue about who that source is, but that’s the only update I’ve seen since the initial stories about the injury.” George pauses for a minute and shoots Jack a worried look. “Did you watch the video?”

“No,” Jack says with a shake of his head. “I was on the phone almost the whole time I was at the airport and then with no WIFI on the flight, there really wasn’t an opportunity.”

“Good. I’m serious Jack - don’t watch it and don’t go looking for stories. You know the only time the regular news media talks about hockey is when there’s a freak injury. But the trainers were at his side within seconds and they had him stabilized and moved off the ice pretty quickly.”

“Did they just call the game?”

“Yes, it was postponed. Samwell was leading 3-1 at the time. They haven’t announced a make-up date just yet.” Jack sits there and thinks for a minute, running over the new information in his head. ‘Stable’ was good news, right? He wasn’t even sure. But who would have talked to the media? He shakes his head - it really doesn’t matter right now. But before he can think what to ask next, his phone chirps with a new text message. His heart catches in his throat as he realizes it’s on the SMH group chat.

Chris Chow: Jack! We didn’t know if we should call you last night or not! Everyone was so scared!
We wanted to stay at the hospital with Bitty, but the coaches took us to a hotel instead.
We haven’t heard anything this morning.
Coach Murray did let us know last night when the surgery was over. He said it went well.
They are busing us back to Samwell later today.
Are you going to be in town for a while? What about the Falcs? You guys are playing the Sharks tomorrow!
Are you going to miss the game?????

Derek Nurse: Dude. Chill.

Jack chuckles as he reads the texts and feels a little bit of the tension release from his chest. There’s still a whole lot he doesn’t know, but at least hearing from some of Bitty’s team members makes him feel a little bit better.

“News?” George asks and she smiles as Jack fills her in. “Coach Murray telling Eric’s teammates that the surgery went well is definitely a good sign, Jack.”

Before Jack can answer, his phone rings and he recognizes Coach Hall’s number from last night.

“Hi Coach,” he says as soon as he answers the phone.

“Jack, I’m glad to catch you. Some of the guys on the team said you had landed.”

“Yeah, I landed about 15 minutes ago. Georgia Martin is driving me out there from Logan. How is Bitty? Chowder said the surgery went well.”

“Yes, he got out of surgery about an hour and a half after you and I talked last night. It took a little longer than estimated because the surgeon was being very careful to keep the scar tissues to a minimum. Eric woke up briefly about an hour after the surgery but they have him on pretty strong painkillers, so it knocked him right back out again and he’s been asleep since.”

“What about head trauma? George said he was checked hard right before he was slashed?”

“They haven’t really done many tests yet, but since he’s already had one concussion, they think it’s pretty likely he got another one last night. The medical staff is watching him carefully.”

“How long is he going to be in the hospital?”

“At least a few days. And then he’s going to have to have constant supervision for a while, but they are expecting him to make a full recovery.”

“Oh that’s fantastic to hear,” Jack replies, feeling himself go a little lightheaded in relief. He’s extremely glad right now that he’s not the one driving. “Have you talked to his parents? When are they arriving?”

“They are in the air right now. Apparently they drove to Atlanta last night so they could get on the first flight to Providence this morning. They should be landing in a couple of hours and then getting a car to head to the hospital.”

Jack thanks Coach Hall for the update and after another quick reassurance that Bitty was fine, he hangs up the phone.

“Well?” George asks as soon as he hits disconnect.

“He’s doing alright. He woke up about an hour after the surgery but has been asleep since because of the painkillers. He probably has a concussion too, but they are monitoring it.”

Jack leans back in the passenger seat of the car, suddenly feeling absolutely exhausted from all the stress and worry. He can hear George saying something in the seat beside him, but he can’t quite focus on it. Within a couple of minutes, his eyes slip closed.

A hand shaking his shoulder is the next thing that Jack is aware of.

“You awake, kiddo? We’re here.”

Jack sits up and looks around. It takes an embarrassingly long few seconds for him to connect “here” with the hospital where Bitty is being treated. Apparently his sluggishness is noticeable because George start to chuckle from the driver’s seat. He sits upright and runs a hand through his hair; at some point during his nap, he must have lost his ball cap.

“Go on,” George says, pointing towards the entranceway where he can just see Coach Hall standing there watching him. “I need to head back to Providence - there are some meetings this afternoon that I need to be at. If you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to call, OK? I’ll be in touch later tonight, to see where things stand.”

“George, honestly, how do I…”

“Just go be with your boyfriend, Jack. If there’s anything the Falcs can do for him, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Jack smiles at her and finally feels awake enough to get out of the car. He almost forgets his bag in the back and it takes a minute to find his hat, but finally he has everything together. He’s horribly aware of just how wrinkled his suit is, but he only has a minute to worry about it before he’s walking through the revolving door.

“Jack!” Coach Hall holds out his hand as Jack enters the building. “It’s good to see you. Eric is going to be very relieved you are here.”

“Thanks, Coach,” Jack replies, noticing that he doesn’t appear to have gotten more sleep than Jack has. “How is he?”

Coach Hall starts walking towards a bank of elevators just near the lobby and Jack falls in step next to him. He grows a little worried when he doesn’t respond immediately, but as soon as they are in the elevator alone, Coach Hall turns to him.

“He’s doing fine. He’s woken up a few times briefly this morning. The nurses have been checking to make sure he’s responsive since they don’t know how much of a concussion he has after that hit. Obviously, the more immediate concern was the cut from the skate blade.”

“I haven’t seen the video,” Jack admits.

“Good. Don’t watch it. I saw it live and it’s something I will probably never forget. If I never see anything like that again, it will be too soon. The cut is on the left side of his neck. It’s deep; his collar bone got nicked in one place and the muscles are obviously going to need time to heal. His arm has been immobilized to help the muscles and bone heal.” The elevator chimed as they reached the fourth floor and Coach Hall led the way to a door almost to the end of the corridor.

“He’s in there. His parents are due to land about now and they’ll be here in a couple of hours. As long as it’s OK with you, I’m going to put my head down for a bit before they get here.” Jack nods and shakes Coach Hall’s hand again, thanking him for all the updates. Once Coach Hall has gone to the waiting area at the end of the hall to commandeer a couch, Jack takes a deep breath and knocks softly at Bitty’s door. When there’s no answer, he nudges it open and takes a peak inside.

Bitty is in the bed next to the window, fast asleep. He’s shirtless, so the huge swath of bandages that stretches across his left shoulder and neck is very obvious. His left arm is indeed held tight to his chest by a sling and the only noise in the room is the slow beeping of the monitor he’s hooked up to. Fortunately, the other bed in the room is empty.

Jack slings his duffel in the corner and after a minute, pulls his suit jacket off and lays it on top of the bag before stopping at the foot of the bed and just staring at Bitty for a few minutes. In spite of every awful image that has flashed through his brain over the last few hours, he isn’t hovering at death’s door. The bandages look clean and he’s resting comfortably.

A quick glance around the room reveals an uncomfortable-looking chair on the other side of the bed. Jack carefully moves it so he can sit on Bitty’s right side, careful to keep it from grinding on the floor and waking him up. Once he’s got it in the right position, Jack slumps down in it and carefully finds Bitty’s uninjured hand tangled up in the sheets. He covers it with his own hand, marveling yet again at just how perfectly Bitty’s hand fits in his.

Jack leans forward and rests his head on the edge of the bed, careful to not disturb Bitty in any other way and closes his eyes. Within minutes, Jack is back asleep, still cradling Bitty’s hand in his own.

Chapter Text

Jack dozes on and off for a couple of hours, never quite able to find a comfortable enough position to drop into a full sleep; the rattle of a cleaning cart in the hallway finally pulls him fully awake after a couple of hours. He bites back a groan as his muscles complain loudly about spending that much time slumped over the edge of a hospital bed, especially after a hard fought, physical hockey game and a red-eye flight across the country. After a few blinks to try to clear his head, Jack looks over to see how Bitty is doing, a soft smile breaking over his face when he sees those huge brown eyes watching him.

“Hey you,” Jack whispers, his voice rough from sleep and stress. “How are you doing?” Bitty shifts a little on the hard hospital mattress and Jack doesn’t miss the wince he tries to hide as his shoulder moves.

“I’m all right,” Bitty replies, his voice sounding weaker than normal, which makes Jack frown in concern. He knows Bitty tends to minimize his problems or play them off as unimportant. “My shoulder and neck hurts, but the surgeon said it was normal given how the depth of the cuts. He stopped in a bit ago while you were asleep to talk to me about the surgery and give me more painkillers. He said I was really lucky, the blade hit me in a spot on the neck where there was a low probably of it slicing an artery or damaging my spine. But my collar bone wasn’t as lucky; the blade cracked it and I’m most likely done for the season.”

Jack hangs his head as those words sink in; this certainly isn’t how Jack wanted his college hockey career to end. This year had the potential to be as special as his own senior year. Samwell is shaping up to be a really good team this year; they are one of the favorites to win the ECAC championship and analysts have even mentioned them as a favorite to return to the Frozen Four. But how would they react to losing their captain? He shook his head; that was hardly what he should be worrying about right at this minute.

“I’m so sorry, Bits.”

“It sucks,” Bitty admits softly, his head falling back against the pillow. Jack’s heart clenches when he sees the first hint of a tear in Bitty’s eyes. Jack gets up off the chair in a hurry and perches awkwardly on the side of the hospital bed, his hand coming up to cup Bitty’s cheek and wipe his tears. There’s only the faintest hint of stubble on his cheek and it brings another soft smile to Jack’s face; Bits’ continued inability to grow a playoff beard is still prime chirping material for the rest of the team. Bitty leans into his hand and they sit there in silence for a few minutes as Bitty struggles to collect himself. Finally, he sits up a bit and shoots a quizzical look in Jack’s direction.

“When did you even get here? How’d you know I was injured? What about your game tomorrow night?”

“George has been fantastic,” Jack admits with a sigh. He honestly doesn’t know how he would have survived this without her. “She let the coaching staff know what was happening during the game so they could be prepared. As soon as I finished talking to the press, Coach Matthews pulled me aside and told me you had been injured. Next thing I know. I’m talking to George on the phone; she had talked to your coaches and she passed on what she knew. She bought me a ticket on the red eye to Boston then met me at the airport to drive me here.”

“But why would the team do all that? I mean - I’m not your very pregnant wife who’s about to go into labor or anything.”

“Bits, stop,” Jack leans in and rests his forehead against Bitty’s. “George said that it’s exactly what she would do for any of her players if their partner was in the hospital and I believe her. You are that important to me, so of course she wanted to help. And it wasn’t just George. Marty, Thirdy, Guy and Tater all told me to get on that plane. Parse even helped; he got the Aces to help me get to the airport in time and had someone meet me to make sure I made it through security quickly. On top of all that, dozens of players have sent me texts or voice mails to say that they heard and they are hoping you recover quickly.”

That lump is back in his throat again; every time Jack thinks about all the people in the league who have reached out, he gets awfully close to crying. In a lot of ways, he’s still waiting for someone in the league to say he doesn’t belong here. Jack hears the voices of the analysts who have called him overrated or said the only reason any team would want him was because of his father. But maybe it’s time for him to stop thinking that way, if so many players and coaches have gone out of their way to say they are thinking of Bitty. But right now isn’t the best time to be worried about this. Jack looks back up at Bitty and his chest hurts a little as he sees the worry that is still written across Bitty’s face.

“But what about the rest of your roadie? Won’t people be suspicious if you just miss a couple of games?”

“The team can manage without me for a game or two. George said they’ll release a statement just before tomorrow’s game saying I left to deal with a family emergency.” Bitty shifted uneasily against the mattress and Jack frowned; he was obviously missing something here. “What is it, Bits?”

“Well, since obviously people know I was injured last night, what if someone realized where you went? What if a reporter decides to out you?”

“Bits, don’t worry about that now. What matters to me - to everyone really - is that you are alright.” Jack swallows around the lump in his throat but forces himself to continue. “I haven’t seen the video of your injury. George and my dad were emphatic that I not watch it, but their reactions were bad enough to tell me just how serious it all was. So you don’t worry about my team or me missing games. You need to heal; that’s the most important thing.”

“I know, sweetheart, but I don’t want my injury to be the thing that outs you. This,” he nods towards the bandages on his neck and his immobilized shoulder, “is bad enough on its own.”

“You are worth any risk, Eric Bittle,” he says quietly, deliberately using his full name to underscore his seriousness. “All I could think about when Coach Matthews first told me what happened was that I needed to get here as soon as possible. No one in my organization even hinted that I should stay with the team. It would have taken a lot more than that to keep me from being here right now.” Jack pauses to swallow down the lump in his throat, which only grows as he watches moisture start to gather in Bitty’s eyes again and he collapses back on the bed.

“Bits? Honey, what’s wrong?”

“Oh Jack,” Bitty replies, his voice much thicker than normal. “You say the sweetest things.” Jack smiles down at Bitty, then leans down to give him a soft kiss. Bitty turns out of the kiss after a few seconds to try to smother a huge yawn. “Oh Lord, I think the pain killers are catching up with me. I can’t keep my eyes open.”

“Go ahead and rest, Bits. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He kisses Bitty softly before helping make sure he’s comfortable and his injured shoulder is properly supported . Before he is even finished, Bitty’s eyes have closed. Jack kisses his forehead one more time and then stands up, stretching to try to relieve some of the ache in his back. He groans softly as his muscles let him know that they aren’t happy he spent several hours sleeping hunched over at the side of the bed.

Jack looks down at his phone as his stomach grumbles; it’s after 11 now and that breakfast sandwich George had bought him was nothing but a distant memory. He’s sore and tired from the game last night and the sleepless night and he could really use a shower, not to mention a change of clothes. He digs his phone charger out of his bag and plugs it in, noticing that he’s received dozens more text messages and voice mails since this morning. But that’s not something he wants to deal with right now.

Jack disappears into the tiny bathroom for a minute to splash some water on his face and rinse his mouth. It helps him feel a little better, but he really wishes he could change into fresh clothes. There's nothing in his duffel bag except some ratty work-out clothes though. All his clothes he packed for the roadie are in his suitcase that was taken to the team hotel. He frowns for a minute and thinks before heading back to his phone on the small table by Bitty’s bed. Ignoring all his other messages, he finds Shitty’s name in his address book and fires off a quick text to ask if he can bring Jack a couple of changes of clothes. He supposes he could always go out and buy new clothes, but his car is in the private lot at the Providence airport and he has no idea how far the nearest shopping center is from the hospital.

Just as he’s putting the phone back on the table, however, it starts to buzz with an incoming call. The ringer was set to vibrate hours ago, but even that seems unnaturally loud in the otherwise quiet room. Fortunately, Bitty doesn’t even stir. He checks the screen and smiles as he sees George’s name. Jack thumbs the phone on as he heads towards the hallway; he wants to take this call, but he doesn’t want the sound of his voice to wake Bitty. He squints as he steps out into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him. Bitty’s room is being kept dark because of his potential concussion and the the full-on glare out here is bright enough in comparison to make his own head spin a little.

“Hey George,” he says as the call connects and he heads down the hallway to the waiting area at the end of the hallway. He thinks this is where Coach Hall went earlier this morning but he’s not sure. He glances around as he enters the room, relieved to see that there’s no one here right now.

“Hi Jack. How are you holding up? How is Eric?”

“He just fell back asleep but I got to talk to him for a bit. He’s fairly down; his injuries aren’t life-threatening but his college career is probably over. The skate blade broke his collar bone.”

“Ouch! That’s too bad for him; he’s been having a great season. I even heard scuttlebutt that a couple of teams had sent minor league scouts out to watch him.” Jack winces; Bitty had never mentioned anything about scouts to him but he’s not really surprised. He knows there are teams that are looking for someone with Bitty’s natural speed and passing accuracy. “But don’t worry about that; if he wants, we’d be happy to have him work with our therapists to rehab once he’s been cleared by his doctors. But how are you holding up?”

“I’m groggy and a bit sore,” he admits with a wry chuckle. “Sleeping hunched over in an uncomfortable hospital chair apparently doesn’t agree with me.”

“I’m not surprised,” George responds with a chuckle of her own. “I’ve talked with the coaching staff this morning and we have our statement all worked out to be released prior to tomorrow’s game. I checked over some of the blogs this morning and no one is talking about your whereabouts yet, which is good. Our PR staff is prepared if that happens.”

“I don’t know how long I’m going to be here,” Jack admits. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to Bitty’s doctor and his parents haven’t even arrived yet, so I don’t even know how long he’ll be in the hospital.”

“The coaches and I are working under the assumption that you are going to miss at least 2 games, but if it’s longer than that, we’ll discuss it. Once you have talked with the doctors and Bitty’s parents are there, we’ll work out the details.”

“Thanks for everything, George. Bitty and I are so grateful for all your support.”

“Don’t even mention it. Like I said before, we’d do the same for any of our players. I’ll talk to you later, Jack. Hang in there.”

Jack hangs up the phone and takes a deep breath. He’s so relieved that the organization has been so supportive; it’s been that way since he first told George about Bitty more than a year ago, but up until now, it’s always been a little bit of an abstract concept in Jack’s mind. Over the last 18 hours, that stance has been reinforced in so many concrete ways that it’s made him feel a little light headed.

With a shake of his head to clear his thoughts, Jack starts to head back to Bitty’s room but the buzz of his phone makes him stop when he sees his mother’s name on the screen.

“Hey Maman.”

“Hi sweetheart, how are you doing?”

“I’m doing alright,” Jack replies; he spends a few minutes updating her on Bitty’s condition and talking through some of his concerns. His mother repeats the offer to come down and spend time with Eric that his father made the night before. Jack promises to talk it over with Bitty later and let them know what he decides. It’s a pretty short call but before hanging up, Jack promises to call later that day and update them. Jack takes a deep breath as he hangs up the phone after talking to his mother. He needs to get back to Bitty - he’s been gone far longer than he intended.

His shoes squeak slightly as he walks back towards Bitty’s hospital room but he stops a few steps from the door when he realizes that it’s open now and he can hear the faint sounds of people talking. Jack hesitates out of sight in the hallway, trying to figure out who is in the room with him. He hadn’t been paying attention to traffic in the hallway while he had been on the phone. He lurks in the hallway for more than a minute, but he can’t hear enough of the conversation to identify the voices.

Jack shakes his head to clear it before deciding he should just see who’s in the room rather than just lurking suspiciously in the hallway. He takes a deep breath and tries to swallow down the lump in his throat before taking that final step that brings him fully into the doorway.

Jack’s eyes are drawn to Bitty automatically, feeling a little relieved to find him still sleeping peacefully. A soft sob drags Jack’s attention away from Bitty after a second and he tenses up as he sees that there are three other people in the room now. Coach Hall is standing at the foot of the bed, looking tired as he talks quietly with Bitty’s parents. Richard and Suzanne Bittle are standing on the far side of the bed, but they don't appear to have noticed him yet. Suzanne is leaning against her husband, tear tracks evident on her cheeks, which Richard looks sadly at his son. Both of them look more stressed and worried than Jack can remember ever seeing them.

Jack hesitates, not sure if he should give them space or not, but as he shifts his weight uncertainly, one of his shoes squeaks softly on the floor again and everyone turns to look at him. Jack stands there, frozen, his heart in his throat and his mind completely blank. He has no idea what he should say, how he should explain his presence.

After what feels like an eternity of them staring awkwardly at each other (in reality, it’s less than a minute), Suzanne steps away from Richard and moves across the room to him. Jack tenses up even more, not sure what he is going to do. Is she going to push him out of the room, say he has no reason to be there? But seconds later, her arms are around his neck and her face is pressed into his shirt. She starts to shake slightly and after a second, Jack hugs her back and tries to soothe her tears. She says something that Jack can’t quite hear; after a minute, Suzanne finally pulls back enough that Jack can hear what she is saying.

“Oh thank goodness, Jack. I’m so glad you are here.”

Chapter Text

Jack closes his eyes as he wraps his arms around Suzanne, the stress in her voice causing a lump to rise in his throat. As she continues to hug him, Jack feels himself taking on more and more of her stress. He pats her on the back, feeling like he’s approaching the edge of a full-scale panic attack. On top of all his worry about Bitty’s condition, he has no idea what to tell them about why he’s here at all. As far as they know, there is no reason why Jack should have even been notified personally about the injury, much less allowed into a family-only area of the hospital. Maybe they just think he heard about the accident on the news and drove over from Providence. There’s no reason to assume that they know his team’s schedule, after all. But before his thoughts spiral completely out of control, Suzanne gives him one last hug before pulling back and studying his face.

“Have you talked to the doctor yet?” She asks, her voice noticeably thicker and far more subdued than her normal, cheerful voice. There are tears in her eyes and Jack’s stomach clenches with sympathetic tension and fear.

“No, I haven’t had the chance,” Jack admits before wondering if he should admit that he was sleeping next to Bitty’s bed when the doctor came through. Coach Hall clears his throat just then, however, which draws everyone’s attention towards the corner where he is standing.

“I spoke to Doctor Torres early this morning, shortly after Eric came out of surgery. But since you are here now, why don’t I see if I can get him to come by?” He turns and head out of the room, leaving the three of them to stare awkwardly at Bitty as he sleeps.

“I did talk with Bitty for a bit about an hour ago, just before he fell back asleep,” Jack admits, feeling his cheeks heat a bit as Suzanne and Richard look back at him. “He had just gotten more pain killers, so he wasn’t awake for long. But, uh, he was doing alright while we talked. His shoulder and neck hurt a lot, obviously, but apparently the doctor said the blade cut him in a relatively safe spot. It was away from his arteries and spinal cord.” Jack swallows over the lump in his throat. He really doesn’t want to think about just how close Bitty was … Jack gives himself a mental shake; he’s not going to go down that path right now. “But his collar bone was cracked by the blade. It, uh, probably means he’s out for the rest of his season.”

“Oh my poor baby,” Suzanne buries her face back in Jack’s shirt; he can feel her trembling in his arms and he’s really not sure what else he can do other than pat her on the back and wait.

“What time did you get here, Jack?” Richard asks from the other side of Bitty’s bed. “Junior said he was hoping to catch most of your game after his was done, since the Falcs were playing in Vegas.” Jack’s stomach feels like it has dropped completely out of his body. He has no idea how to answer that. He opens his mouth to say something - what he really doesn’t even know - but he has to swallow at least four times before he feels like he can speak over the lump in his throat.

“I got here a couple of hours ago,” he finally admits, trying not to squirm from the look that Richard pins him with. “George … umm I mean Georgia Martin, our Assistant GM, informed me what happened as soon as I got off the ice in Vegas and got me on a red-eye to Boston. I haven’t even seen the accident; the coaches were all pretty insistent that I not watch it and there was no WIFI on the flight…” Jack isn’t sure why he is admitting it, other than to be completely honest with Bitty’s parents.

“We didn’t see it happen either,” Suzanne admits, her voice muffled by Jack’s shirt. “We couldn’t find a stream for the game. Richard went and found a clip of it after Coach Hall called us, but I couldn’t bear to see it. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so scared, except maybe that night in 7th grade…” Suzanne closes her eyes and shudders. Jack winces in sympathy, fully aware of the incident she’s talking about. “That’s when we started driving to Atlanta; we didn’t even know when we’d be able to get a flight but we just couldn’t sit at home and wait to back hear from the coaches.”

“I was lucky to be able to make the last flight to Boston; getting to the airport and through security in time took a lot of luck and some help.”

“I’m certain I aged 15 years while we were stuck in Atlanta waiting to get on a plane.” Suzanne sighs and leans against Jack. He keeps rubbing her back, not sure how else he should be comforting her. They all fall silent for a minute, watching Bitty sleep peacefully.

“There’s one thing I don’t quite understand, son,” Richard says after a few minutes and Jack feels his stomach start to twist. He somehow just knows what is coming. “Please don’t take this the wrong way - we’re both very glad you are here. But why..” He breaks off for a second and Jack watches him swallow and he can almost see the words he’s trying to figure out how to say. “Why would your team spend so much effort, not to mention money, to get you here?”

Jack swallows heavily. This is it, the question that he has known would come at some point but still has absolutely no clue how to answer. But before he can even start to wrangle his racing thoughts, another voice breaks into the conversation.

“He’s here because….” comes a sleep-softened voice from the bed, so quiet they almost miss it before it trails off nervously. Jack, Suzanne and Coach all whip around to look at Bitty so quickly Jack is sure they all pinch something in the process. Jack gives Bitty a quick once over and is relieved not to see any traces of pain in Bitty’s face. He looks barely awake and he struggles for a second to try to sit up before collapsing back down on the bed. His big brown eyes lock on Jack’s, and he’s sure the same nervousness that cloud Bitty’s eyes is visible in his own. This isn’t how they they had talked about starting this conversation at all.

“Momma… Coach…” Bitty starts again before faltering and swallows visibly. Jack wishes he was close enough to grab his hand, wrap his arms around his shoulder, do something other than stand here silently. “I haven’t known how to tell you…”

Suzanne makes a noise and Jack tears his eyes away from Bitty to take a look at her. Her eyes are strangely intense, but he has no idea what that could mean. He feels like he’s frozen in place; Bitty’s been so worried about this moment for so long but now that it’s here, Jack can barely even breathe.

“Jack and I have been dating for a while now,” he admits finally, as if he’s decided just to spit it out and see what happens next. “For more than a year actually. Both of our teams know, so that’s why the Falcs got Jack here. I’m sorry I haven’t told you….” As Bitty speaks, his words have gotten faster and quieter so that by the time he trails off, his voice is so soft that Jack can barely hear him.

“Oh sweetheart!” Suzanne cries and quickly pulls away from Jack. He looks back down at her, startled to see a wide smile start to split her face. Before Jack can even figure out what is going on, she’s completely let go of him and standing over next to Bitty’s bed, wrapping her arms carefully around her son. “I always hoped, but you never said anything…..” Her words become even more muffled when Coach joins the hug.

Jack staggers back a few steps and collapses in a chair by the door. Relief sweeps over his body, but it makes his ears ring so badly he doesn’t hear anything else for a few minutes. He can’t wrap his head around what just happened. Bitty has been petrified of his parents’ reaction to his sexuality for years. While they’ve been dating, Jack has lost track of the number of times Bitty has almost come out to them, only to change his mind when he’s overcome with panic. After all that, it doesn’t even look like they were surprised. The next few minutes are a blur to Jack. His head continues to spin from a combination of relief and exhaustion. He wonders if he should leave for a bit, give Bitty and his parents a few minutes of privacy, but just as he starts to stand, he’s enfolded in a tight hug.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am,” Suzanne says softly as she gives his shoulders a tight squeeze. Jack’s head jerks up and as he makes eye contact with her, he’s stunned by the genuine warmth in her eyes. “When you came down to visit Dicky in Madison that first time, I started to wonder. You and Dicky looked so happy together! I wondered how he couldn’t see how much he cared for you.”

“I’m sorry…” he says, unsure exactly what he apologizing for, but feeling the need to say something.

“None of that now,” comes the determined reply and Jack forces himself to keep eye contact. He can see some faint tear tracks on her cheeks, but her smile is as warm as he’s ever seen it. “Richard and I knew that we had to let Dicky tell us in his own time. We tried to hint, but we never quite knew how to bring it up.” Jack smiles at her, feeling a few tears gather in his own eyes as her happiness and relief starts to really sink in. After another squeeze to his shoulder, Suzanne straightens up and heads back to the bed. Jack shoots a quick look at Bitty to see how he’s hanging on - and he sees the same shock in Bitty’s eyes that he knows is written all over his face.

Jack loses track of the conversation for a few minutes as he slumps over in the chair, trying to corral his scattered thoughts. Unfortunately, his brain is just refusing to cooperate. The stress of the overnight flight, the uncomfortable nap on Bitty’s beside and the staggering amount of relief in the last minute has completely knocked him for a loop.

He honestly has no idea how long he sits there staring at his clasped hands between his knees in a stunned daze. He’s vaguely aware of people talking and moving about the hospital room, but it’s the sound of a knock on the door next to his chair that manages to fully penetrate the fog. A quick glance over his shoulder reveals someone who must be the doctor hesitating in the doorway.

“Is this a bad time?” the man asks, running one hand through his salt-and-pepper hair while the other one holds a clipboard. “I can always come back.”

“Oh no, please come in Doctor Torres. My parents have lots of questions.” Bitty says from the bed. Jack looks over at them and is slightly surprised to see Suzanne and Richard sitting on the other side. The last thing he remembers is the two of them crowded around Bitty. Just how long has he been sitting here, completely lost in thought? With a smile, Doctor Torres and Coach Hall move to stand at the foot of the bed.

Over the next thirty minutes, Doctor Torres talks them through all the details about Bitty’s injuries and recovery time. As Jack had feared, it’s almost certain that Bitty’s college career is over. The break is a clean one, at least, but the doctor is pretty adamant that Bitty won’t be ready for contact sports for a couple of months minimum. That’s well past the end of hockey playoffs. The gash on Bitty’s neck is deep but the Doctor emphasizes several times that Bitty is extremely lucky. If the blade had hit Bitty in the front of the neck, he would have been in serious trouble. They are going to continue to monitor him for a concussion, but unless he suffers a set-back, the Doctor thinks that Bitty will be able to be discharged the next day.

Once Doctor Torres has answered all their questions and left to see the rest of his patients, Jack feel himself start to shut down. The last 24 hours have been incredibly emotionally and physically exhausting. He sinks back into the chair by the door, slumped over so far his head is almost between his knees and tries to summon the very last of his mental stamina. There are things they need to discuss, arrangements that need to be made if Bitty is really going to be discharged tomorrow. But every time he tries to talk, tries to start the conversation, the words catch in his throat.

“Jack, honey, are you OK?” Bitty asks from the bed, his voice tinged with both concern and exhaustion. Jack drags his head up and shrugs, not really able to form a more coherent response than that. “Get some sleep, honey, please? You look dead on your feet.”

“We have a room at a hotel a couple of blocks away,” Suzanne interjects, the same look of concern on her face as on her son’s. “They had lots of rooms available yesterday, so I’m sure there’s some available if you’d like a proper place to sleep.”

Jack knows it’s the sensible thing to do; he really needs at least 8 hours sleep in a comfortable bed. But his skin crawls at the idea of leaving Bitty while he’s in the hospital. He recognizes that he’s being ridiculous. Bitty’s parents are right here and he’s surrounded by medical personnel.

“I’ll just go crash on a couch in the waiting room. I don’t have a car here and I don’t think I should be driving anyway.” He hesitates for a second before walking over to the bed to kiss Bitty quickly on the forehead. As he pulls away, he gives Suzanne and Richard a vague smile before heading towards the door. Fortunately, the waiting room is still empty and he picks a couch at random to collapse onto. He’s asleep almost as soon as he stretches out on the lumpy cushions.

—-

When Jack finally wakes, the sky outside the waiting room windows has turned dusky. A sharp ache in his back and a hollow feeling in his stomach confirm that he was asleep for several hours. A few stretches help ease the muscles a little, but not much. He figures he’s just going to have to live with being sore for the time being. He’s going to need to visit the team chiropractor when he rejoins the roadie in order to be able to stand up in his skates.

A glance up at a clock on the wall of the waiting room confirms that dinner time has come and gone. But first thing first; he needs to go check on Bitty before he can go search for food. After a quick stop in a nearby restroom, he heads back down the hallway. The room looks dark as he gets closer so Jack stops in the doorway; he doesn’t want to disturb Bitty if he’s sleeping. But it turns out he’s awake and all alone, sitting propped up in his bed, staring out the window.

“Hey bud,” he says and smiles as Bitty sends a tired smile in his direction. “Where is everyone?”

“Coach Hall left just after you fell asleep; the team is heading back to Samwell and with all y’all here, he really didn’t think he needed to stay. Momma and Coach just left to get some sleep.” Jack frowns as he realizes that Bitty is worrying about something. Jack isn’t really surprised by that, but still, he doesn’t like seeing him worry if he can help it.

“What’s wrong bud?” he asks as he moves to stand next to the bed. Bitty gives his a tired smile and scoots over a little. Jack hesitates for a second before sitting down, shoulder to shoulder. He knows he’s going to get in trouble with the nursing staff if they catch him, but the way Bitty leans his head down on his shoulder pushes that worry from his mind in an instant. The warm heat of Bitty pressed up against his side helps dispel some of his lingering stress.

“The doctor stopped back just before Momma and Coach left; as long as I don’t have any problems tonight, he’s fine with discharging me in the morning, but there are conditions. I’m not going to be able to use my arm for weeks and I’m definitely showing signs of a concussion. Light sensitivity, dizziness, that kind of thing. He doesn’t want me to be on my own for a while, but he thinks staying at the Haus might not be the answer.” Jack sighs, seeing what the doctor means. A frat house with a bunch of rowdy hockey players is not the ideal recuperation environment.

“Coach has to go back home in the morning; he’s doing exam prep in his classes this week. Momma can stay for a while - but next weekend is my cousin Angela’s cotillion. Momma told her sister weeks ago that she’d help with everything that needs doing. And don’t you roll your eyes, Jack Laurent Zimmermann. Cotillion is a big deal.” Bitty snickers a little as Jack gives an exaggerated sigh, and the sound warms Jack’s heart. It always makes him happy when Bitty laughs.

“So your mother has to go home on Thursday. What if…” but before Jack can finish the sentence, Bitty cuts him off.

“Oh no. You aren’t skipping the whole roadie to take care of me. So don’t even suggest it mister. It’s more than enough that you are here right now. ”

Jack sighs; if he’s honest, he knows that’s not going to happen.

“I know, I know. But I do have a suggestion. My parents have both offered to come help you. They adore you, you know. They were ready to charter a flight last night if it would have helped.”

“Are you serious?” Jack looks down and can’t help smiling at the look of astonishment on Bitty’s face.

“You know I am. They’d be here in the morning if you need them.”

“Won’t the news that they are staying in New England when you are across the country raise eyebrows? Why would they come all this way just because an old teammate of yours was injured? I mean, I know this injury has gotten a lot of talk, but that just makes it more likely someone will start digging.”

Jack takes a deep breath, knowing that Bitty isn’t wrong. Having his parents help Bitty will solve a lot of problems, but it could most likely bring the scrutiny of the tabloid press down on their heads. But a thought crystallizes in Jack’s head in that moment. He knows what he is going to do. He’s not going to let the fear of what someone might do paralyze him and keep him from getting Bitty all the help he needs.

Jack reaches up with his left hand and nudges Bitty’s chin, careful of his injuries but wanting to make sure that Bitty sees just how much he means what he is going to say.

“Then I’m going to beat them to the punch,” he says softly. He sees Bitty’s eyes widen as he catches on. “You are more important to me than anything. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He brushes a soft kiss on Bitty’s dry lips before leaning back slightly. He has to swallow a couple of times over the lump in his throat as he watches Bitty’s huge brown eyes start to well up with tears. He clears his throat, wanting to make sure he’s heard properly.

“I’m going to come out.”

Chapter Text

The sun is shining brightly in the sky the next morning as Jack makes his way back to the hospital. He had stayed at Bitty’s beside for almost an hour past the end of visitor’s hours last night so they could discuss Jack’s decision and just enjoying some quiet time with together. They had even called Jack’s parents, who had been relieved to talk to them and more than happy to come down and help Bitty for a while before one of the nurses had insisted that Jack needed to leave so Bitty could get some sleep.

Jack had stumbled a few blocks down the road to a nearby hotel and had fallen asleep almost as soon as he had laid down on the bed. If he’s honest, he’s not even 100% sure which hotel he slept in; he thinks it’s the same one Coach and Suzanne are staying in, but he hadn’t see them there at all.

Jack smiles at the person working the welcome desk in the hospital lobby as he waits for the elevator. A good night’s sleep on a proper bed combined with a long hot shower this morning has worked wonders on his sore muscles and he’s feeling almost completely human again. There’s still a small knot of anxiety in his stomach, a combination of worry about Bitty’s condition and vague fears about what coming out could do to their lives, but it’s not the overwhelming whirl of panic that Jack has always assumed he would face when he reached this decision.

Maybe it has something to do with the dozens of text messages and voice mails he finally started sifting through this morning while he was eating. Uncle Mario and Uncle Wayne had both left multiple voice mails over the last day, offering any help they could give them. He’s completely lost track of the number of current players who’ve left him texts, tweets and emails; they range from people Jack had played with in the Q to guys he had only ever spoken with on the ice since he joined the league. He’s completely overwhelmed by it all. Jack is clinging to the hope that the majority of these guys will still be talking to him once he makes his announcement in a few days.

But Jack’s relaxed mood diminishes slightly as he approaches the door to Bitty’s room and notices that the room lights have been turned off and the blackout curtains have been drawn now. They hadn’t been closed when he had finally left last night. Jack pauses in the doorway, taking in the sight of Doctor Torres talking quietly with Bitty and his parents.

“Good morning,” Jack says nervously after a few seconds, hanging uncertainly in the doorway.

“Hey sweetheart,” Bitty says and Jack’s worry spikes as he hears the pain in Bitty’s voice. A quick glance around the room at the worried looks on Suzanne and Coach's faces only adds to his discomfort.

“What's happened?” he asks, his worry making his voice harder than normal even as he works to keep his voice soft.

“Eric’s concussion symptoms grew more severe overnight,” Doctor Torres replies quietly and Jack feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. “It’s not entirely unexpected, particularly for someone who has a history of concussions, but it's still concerning.”

“But this was just a minor concussion...” Jack begins, the words stopping as the doctor shakes his head.

“In medical terms, there is no such thing as a minor concussion. Everyone experiences brain trauma in different ways and each concussion incident proceeds in its own way.”

“What about his future? Will he be able to play hockey again?” Jack’s mind is whirring; he knows George wasn’t exaggerating when she said that some teams had been scouting Bitty.

“We won’t know that for a while,” Doctor Torres admits with a sigh. “There is no set recovery from concussions. Our best treatment options are lots of rest and quiet, with limited physical exertion. He’s especially light sensitive right now. As his concussion symptoms improve, we can then start to consider his physical rehab options.”

“What about school? He’s supposed to graduate in June.” Suzanne asks.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have any concrete answers. Headaches and light sensitivity are the two most common post-concussion symptoms. He might be fine to continue classes next week, but there’s no real way to tell.”

“Momma, it’ll be OK.” Bitty breaks in quietly and everyone turns to look at him. “I got an email from Professor Atley last night and she said that she’s going to work with me and my other teachers to make sure everything gets done so I can graduate. As far as hockey goes,” Bitty says with a fond but exasperated look in Jack’s direction, “we’ll just have to burn that bridge when we get there. Right now, I can’t say I’m in a rush to get back on the ice after having my neck sliced open by a blade.”

“Fortunately, that’s a decision that we don’t have to make right now,” the doctor reminds everyone before looking back over Bitty’s chart. “In the meantime, I know we had discussed releasing Eric this morning, but given the severity of the concussion symptoms that emerged since last night, I’m going to keep him in for another day at least.”

Bitty leans his head back on the bed as the doctor leaves the room. Jack moves over to his bedside, leaning down to softly kiss his forehead, before looking back at Suzanne and Richard, who are both looking extremely worried. Closing his eyes for a second, Jack takes a deep breath and marshaling his racing thoughts into line.

“I’m so sorry bud,” he starts with a quick look back at the bed, “I know this is rough. But it gives us a little more time to make arrangements for when you are finally released.” Bitty shoots him a look that says quite clearly that he doesn’t find that at all comforting.

——

The next few days are a hectic blur of phone calls and emails; Jack begins to feel like his phone is becoming permanently attached to his hand. Jack’s mom has used her connections as a Samwell alumna (and her history of generous donations to the University) to get the Bittles permission to stay in one of the apartments the University owns near campus that they maintain for the visiting professors. It’s an ideal solution to a lot of their problems, really; Suzanne and Bitty will have far more space than they would even at an extended stay hotel, and Bitty is also close enough to campus that he can take care of his class obligations easily. Alicia is also arriving on Wednesday afternoon so Suzanne has plenty of time on Thursday to get to the airport on time.

While taking care of Bitty’s needs takes a lot of phone calls, getting everything together for his return to the team and his announcement takes even more of his attention. Jack talks with George on an almost hourly basis once he fills her in on his decision. She’s completely supportive, naturally, passing along the contact information for You Can Play as well as a handful of other organizations that are more than willing to help him in any way they can.

Jack’s talked with most of the coaching staff for the Falcs as well. George had offered to talk to them, but Jack insists on doing it himself. While he appreciates George is just trying to save him a few phone calls, he doesn’t think this is something the coaches should hear from anyone other than himself. To Jack’s surprise, he even gets a couple of calls from the Marcus Sampson, the Falconers’ owner, whom Jack has only spoken with when he was signed by the team. He’s nervous before the call, but fortunately Mr. Sampson just wanted to make sure Jack knew everyone from the absolute top of the organization on down was completely behind him.

While his mother is going to be in Samwell taking care of Bittle, it so happens that Bob has some league charity obligations over the coming week in California. Jackwas a bit surprised when he heard that, but it's turned out to be a bit of good luck overall. Bob's made a few adjustments to his schedule, which means he’ll be there in person at the press conference when Jack is going to make his announcement after their game against the LA Kings. It means quite a lot to Jack that his dad will be standing next to him, right alongside his team.

By Wednesday morning, five and a half days after Bitty was injured, Jack is more than ready to rejoin his team and get back on the ice. He feels like everything is as ready as possible. All he needs to do now is actually rejoin the team and play the game tonight. Fortunately, he's on the first flight of the day from Boston to LA and it's been quiet and easy flying. Everyone else on the plane seems to be only barely awake, which suits Jack perfectly. He really didn’t need to spend six and a half hours getting stared with few escape options.

As much as he's tried to ignore it, Jack is aware that the hockey corners of the Internet have gone wild over the last couple of days speculating about Jack’s whereabouts and the type of personal situation that’s made him miss two games, especially during a critical late-season road trip. Most of the speculation has been pretty predictable, people guessing that a Vegas party sent him to a secret rehab facility somewhere. Despite Jack's protestations, however, Ransom and Holster have been forwarding some of the wildest headlines to him over the SMH group chat. Everyone’s favorite theory has him going on a cocaine-fueled bender that ended with Jack fighting with Parse in a private club, where he somehow sustained a serious arm injury and his father has flown him to Montreal to a private clinic for surgery and forced rehab. Even Jack had to smile a bit at that one; it’s got just enough real elements in his life to make it credible, even if it is completely divorced from reality.

As the flight progresses, Jack finds himself getting more anxious. He’s not second-guessing himself; he knows this is the right step to take, but sitting here in a confined space for six and a half hours certainly isn’t helping keep him calm. Fortunately, the plane taxis up to the gate right on schedule and Jack is one of the first ones off the plane. It might still be early in Los Angeles, but the terminals are already packed with people. Jack moves quickly through the terminals, dodging people looking for their gates or the nearest coffee shop. He tugs his ball cap lower over his eyes and keeps his head down, hoping to escape notice as he makes his way to the arrivals pick-up area. The last thing he wants is a crowd of paparazzi crowding him right now.

Just as he’s walking into the baggage claim area, however, Jack thinks he hears someone shouting his name. He looks in that direction, in case it’s Coach Williams, who is supposed to meet him, but a second later, Jack swallows back a curse when he sees three photographers hurrying in his direction. He can hear them shouting at him, but Jack turns back around and walks towards the exterior doors as fast as he can without actually running. Fortunately, it takes him less than a minute to get out the door and there, just in front of him, is Coach Williams leaning against the hood of a rental car.

“Jack! Good to see you.” Coach Williams grabs his duffel bag and throws it in the trunk as Jack dives for the passenger seat. Just as he’s slamming the door shut, the photographers make it outside and he’s almost blinded by the flashes against his car window. To Jack's great relief, they are able to get away from the curb pretty quickly. He’s sure the paps got at least a few shots of him, but at least he didn’t have to stand there while they shouted questions in his face.

“Wow, that was nuts.” Coach Williams admits, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as he eases them into the LA morning traffic jam. “If that’s the kind of treatment you get as just a hockey player, how bad is it for movie stars? Is the fame and money worth that kind of harassment?”

“It can be really invasive,” Jack admits, remembering some of the trips here as a child when his mother came here for work. “I was always very glad we didn’t come here often.”

“Oh man,” There’s silence in the car for a second before Coach Williams starts chuckling and shaking his head. “I completely forgot that you’ve lived with this for your whole life.”

Jack just grins and settles back in his seat. In a lot of ways, Coach Williams’ reaction is the response he’s been aiming for his whole life. His team sees him just as a hockey player in his own right and not as the child of a hockey legend and a movie star. It feels like he’s finally managed to bear the legacy that haunted his teenage years and become someone who’s earned his success.

It might still be early morning in LA but the traffic is still truly horrible and it takes more than an hour to get to the team hotel. Jack starts to doze off a few times, but the sudden stops and honking horns don’t allow him to really drop off. Jack breathes a sigh of relief as they pull into the parking lot. He’s a bit worried that at least one of the photographers managed to follow them here, but fortunately that doesn’t seem to have happened.

As soon as Jack walks through the revolving door into the lobby, Coach Williams ushers him towards a conference room where the rest of the coaching staff are gathered, breakfast spread out on the table along with tonight’s game plan. Marty, Thirdy and Tater are all there too, chatting quietly among themselves but as soon as they see him enter the room, they are all on their feet and heading in his direction. Marty gets to him first, wrapping Jack up in a tight hug.

“Hey kiddo. Good to see you. How’s Eric doing?”

“He’s doing OK. Had a bad few days with headaches, but he’s doing OK and back at Samwell. My mom is flying to Samwell today to stay with him for a bit.” As soon as Marty steps back, Thirdy and Tater give him big hugs as well. Jack takes a deep breath and gives them a small smile. He's so grateful that he's found himself on a team with men like guys. A cough behind him has them all turning around and Coach Anderson, the Falcs head coach, points them towards some seats.

“I want to thank you all for everything over the last few days,” Jack starts saying once everyone has settled into their seats. “Bitty and I are both extremely grateful for everyone’s support. If I never have to take another panicked cross country flight, it will be too soon.” Jack has to swallow the lump in his throat before he can continue. “I also want to say that I’m very grateful that everyone in this team has been 100% behind my decision to come out. I know this is going to put a huge spotlight on the team right in a critical part of the season, but given the nature of some of the gossip, I felt like this was the best solution for everyone involved.”

“Jack, from the moment this team was founded, everyone has been determined to make this organization one that puts the well-being of its players first.”

Jack looks over at Coach Anderson and nods, a lump growing in his throat as he considers just how lucky he is to have signed with this team.

“I know Coach, and I can’t tell you how much it has meant to me over the last few days. Knowing just how much you all have done for Bits and myself....” Jack has to stop here, he can’t speak over the lump in his throat. Marty slides an arm over his shoulder and gives him a hug. Fortunately, Coach Anderson decides to move the meeting along and starts running through the day’s schedule before turning everyone’s attention to his plans for tonight’s game.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur for Jack. After the coaches meeting, there’s a full team meeting. Everyone seems glad to have Jack back with the team. He gives a quick update on Bitty’s condition before spelling out what he’s going to do after the game tonight. He tries not to read too many faces; his teammates have known about Bitty for more than a year now. but that doesn’t mean they are all supportive of his coming out. He’s anxious enough about it all that he’d rather not know which of his teammates thinks he’s making a gigantic mistake.

He sits down when he’s done and Snowy, seated to his left, nudges him with his knee. Jack looks up and Snowy gives his shoulder a quick squeeze. He smiles back at him, but before they can say anything, Coach Anderson starts discussing game plans. Jack stares down at his hands for most of the briefing, trying to control his breathing and keep himself calm. The briefing is fairly quick, thankfully, which leaves Jack with enough time to go up to his room and grab a nap before it’s time to head to the arena.

As stressed out as he is, Jack’s almost asleep before his head hits the pillow. It’s been a tiring morning, especially considering the three-hour time change and the long flight. His last thought before he falls asleep is the realization that for the first time in his career, he’s looking forward to a game being over. As terrifying as the thought of being the first ‘out’ player in the NHL, he’s more than ready to tell the world how important Eric Bittle is to him.

Chapter Text

Jack is a bundle of nerves on the bus to the arena that night; he has to fight the urge to fidget or pick at his cuticles while they crawl through Los Angeles traffic on the way to the Staples Center. He gets more than a few sympathetic looks from his teammates even though he’s pretty sure they don’t really understand why he’s nervous.

The truth is that Jack is not second-guessing his decision to come out, even with the big moment only hours away now. He knows this is the right thing to do right now, not only for himself and Bitty but for the league at large. The outpouring of support he’s received from other players only reinforces that idea; if so many people in the league who don’t know him reached out over the last few days, he could survive the few assholes who would look to put him through the boards for being different.

But that doesn't mean Jack isn't more than a little nervous about the press conference after the game. He knows that his appearance at LAX this morning has been broadcast far and wide on the gossip blogs; the team had watched a crowd of paparazzi and reporters gather in the hotel parking lot all afternoon. Fortunately, the hotel management not only kept them outside the hotel but it also let the team bus pull around to the loading dock so the team could be sheltered from the cameras as they set off for the game. It wasn’t the most glamorous moment of Jack’s hockey career, but at least the paps hadn’t been able to shout questions at them.

But with all this attention and build-up, Jack knows the post-game press conference is going to be brutal. And to make the situation just that more of a circus, tonight’s game is on National television. That means there are more cameras and interview segments then they would normally have to deal with during a road game. Luckily, Jack manages to hide in the trainer’s room while the camera crew is in their locker room for pre-game interviews. He can still hear his teammates getting asked about his return to the team; he feels a little guilty at leaving his teammates to answer for him, but everyone had agreed that Jack didn’t need the interrogation before the game. His teammates all follow the team-provided script perfectly and as the crew leaves when their time is up, Jack chuckles as he hears the host muttering about useless answers.

Once Jack hits the ice for warm-up, his nerves start to fade away just like they always do. He doesn’t have to think during the drills, muscle memory kicks in and lets Jack tune out the chaos around him. The crowd does seem a little larger than normal from an Los Angeles pregame, but Jack keeps his eyes on the ice. He can see one or two of his teammates staring up at the crowd between drills but Jack doesn’t follow their gaze. Whatever is up there, he really doesn’t want to see it.

Back in the locker room for a quick huddle before the game, the locker room door opens and Jack looks up in time to see his father enter the room. Thankfully, his teammates are used to Bad Bob by now, so they take his appearance mostly in stride. A few shout a hello as Bob makes his way across the room, but that’s it. Usually Bob makes sure to take time to talk to everyone, but tonight he just gives a quick wave and makes a beeline for Jack’s side.

“Hey Papa,” Jack says in French as his father gives him a tight hug. Jack smiles against his father’s shoulder as he returns the pressure.

“Hey Jack,” Bob says when he finally lets go and drops into the next stall. “Your mother just texted me; she made it to Samwell with no problem and is holed up with Suzanne and Eric in the apartment. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Papa. It’s been a long few days but I’m glad Bits is out of the hospital and that I’m back here with the guys.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Bob replies, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. “What you are planning to do - it’s so brave. You know your mother and I are behind you 100%.”

“I know and it means the word to both of us.” Jack swallows heavily, but forces himself to continue over the lump in his throat. “I’m glad you are here - but also that Maman is with Bits right now. It's going to get crazy for both of us.”

“Your mother is a pro at living with media attention; she’ll keep everyone at bay.” Bob’s voice is a bit thicker than normal too and Jack shoots a quick look up at him. His father’s eyes look wet to Jack and he has to look away quickly. He’s so glad that his relationship with his father is healthier than ever; with all the stress and uncertainty of the last few days, he never worried for a second that Bob wouldn’t be 100% behind him. Before he can get too emotional, however, Coach Anderson walks into the locker room and announces that it’s time. With one final shoulder squeeze, Bob stands up and with a shout of ‘Good Luck Boys!’, he heads up to a suite to watch the game.

The game turns out to be a hard-fought blur. The Kings play a really tight game against them, and the Falcs offense struggles to run properly. It doesn’t help that Jack spends most of the first period feeling slightly out-of-sync. Even though he only missed a few days, it takes most of the first period for Jack to start connecting with his linemates. The Kings manage a goal off a power play halfway through the first period but Marty equalizes three minutes later and Jack scores on a sick backhanded shot from the blue line just before the first intermission. Jack smiles as he hears the boos cascade down from the crowd.

After the break, it’s obvious that the Kings have found an extra gear; they sling the puck around the ice so fast that the Falcs defense has a hard time keeping up at times. Fortunately, Snowy is on a hot streak and the team manages to cling to that slim lead through the rest of the game. There’s one particular kick save he makes in the last few minutes that Jack’s sure that will end up on SportsCenter tonight.

Once the final whistle sounds, Jack slides to a stop at center ice, his forearms braced on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. He is more winded tonight than he can remember being in quite a while. Missing a couple of days has completely thrown his training regimen for a loop. He’s glad there are 2 days before the next game; he feels like he needs the extra time to get his legs back under him.

The mood of the guys in the locker room reminds Jack of the scene after the Aces’ game. Winning 3 of the first 4 games on this roadie is pretty much the best-case scenario and as long as they get a point from the game on Saturday in Phoenix, they’ll clinch at least a wild card spot in the playoffs. Jack sinks into the seat at his locker and closes his eyes for a minute as his nerves start to grow. He needs to shower so he can get to the press conference, but right now, he just needs to sit for a minute. His legs are even shaking slightly. He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing.

Someone drops into the seat next to him and a second later, a firm shoulder presses into his own. Jack cracks his eyes open and smiles as he sees his father sitting next to him.

“Great game tonight, Jack,” he says quietly, giving Jack’s shoulder a firm squeeze. “Your goal was a fantastic shot.”

“Thanks Papa.”

Bob pauses for a minute before switching to French.

“Are you ready to do this? If you aren’t sure…”

“No, I’m sure Papa,” Jack answers quickly. “I just need a minute to get my head together.”

Bob chuckles and gives his shoulder another squeeze as he starts to stand up.

“Take all the time you need. Marty, Thirdy and I will all be there with you when you are ready.” Bob moves away to talk to some of the guys; Jack sits there for a few more minutes before dragging himself upright and heading towards the shower. He stands under the hot water for longer than necessary, but the steam helps him focus on the statement that he’s going to give.

It takes him almost thirty minutes to get ready dressed; he has to sit down a few of times to try to slow his racing heart. But he’s finally dressed in his best suit and smiling as he looks the crowd of teammates that have gathered around him. There have been a lot of complicated negotiations going on while Jack dressed and the team has agreed that Marty, Thirdy, Snowy and Tater will go with Jack to the press conference while the rest of the guys are going to watch from the locker room. Nearly every one wants to stand with Jack, the press room here at the Staples Center just isn’t big enough for an entire hockey team.

“OK guys, let’s get this over with,” Jack says before heading for the door. He hears one last shout of encouragement from the guys as he steps out into the hall.

“Mr. Zimmermann,” Someone greets Jack as soon as the locker room door is closed; a quick look around reveals a Kings staff member standing there, a lanyard around her neck and a cell phone clutched in her hand. “Everything is ready for you, if you will follow me?” Jack takes another deep breath and leads the procession down the narrow back-stage hallway. His father is right next to him, almost walking in lockstep while Coach Anderson and the four players follow closely behind.

They reach the briefing area almost a little too quickly and Jack pauses to take a few last deep breathes. He’s not quite as nervous as he feared; on his therapist’s recommendation, he took a lorazepam when he first got off the ice and he’s starting to feel the effects. He’s still incredibly nervous, but at least he’s not about to curl into a ball and hide in a corner. He’s just reaching out to open the door to the press room when a shout makes him look over his shoulder.

“Yo Zimmermann!”

It takes Jack a second to recognize the three men who are walking quickly in their direction. Anze Kopitar, the King’s captain, is walking quickly in his direction, followed by their two A’s, Jeff Carter and Drew Doughtly. Jack is stunned; he isn’t sure he’s ever spoken to any of them off the ice since they only play the Kings twice a year. But here they are nonetheless.

“Hey, guys…” Jack starts before trailing off awkwardly.

“Our PR chief just told us what you are planning to do. If it’s OK with you, we’d like to be be there with you to show our team’s support.” Kopitar looks down at his feet, as if he’s not sure how Jack is going to react. “This is a huge deal and everything and … we just want the press in there to know you aren’t alone.”

Jack stares for a second, completely flabergasted. He can’t find his voice but he manages a quick nod and a tight smile. Kopitar gives him a quick shoulder bump before stepping around him and shaking hands with Marty and Thirdy. Jack meets his father’s eyes briefly and sees the same hint of shock in his eyes that must be on his face. He absolutely hadn’t expected anyone from the Kings to be here.

Jack takes another deep breath and looks at the crowd of hockey players standing around him. With one more quick nod, Jack finally pushes the door to the press room open. He has to fight the urge to freeze on the threshold when he sees the crowd; the briefing room is absolutely packed. Each and every chair in the room is occupied while the back wall is packed with photographers and videographers. Jack recognizes some of the national hockey writers in the room, but he doesn’t recognize the vast majority. The low buzz of conversation stops as soon as Jack steps into the room and every head turns to follow his progress up to the platform.

Jack takes a seat at the middle of the table with Coach Anderson on his left and his father on his right. The others form an awkward sort of line behind them. It’s more than a little crowded but Jack’s sure it makes for a powerful visual. He pulls his statement out of his pocket, hoping the journalists can’t see how his hands shake. Taking one last deep breath, Jack clears his throat and starts to read his statement:

Good evening and thank you for coming. I know there has been a great deal of speculation about my whereabouts over the last few days. Before I address the rumors, however, I would like to thank the Providence Falconers organization for all the support that they have shown me not only over the last five days, but also from the moment I signed with them almost two years ago. Mr. Sampson, Georgia Martin and the entire coaching staff have created an atmosphere where the players well-being truly does come first and for that, I am incredibly grateful.

Contrary to many of the reports that are currently circulating on websites and talk shows, there was no fight or party after the Las Vegas game nor have I been at a rehabilitation facility. I understand that my personal history makes some of the more far-fetched tales seem more believable, but none of gossip that I have seen has been even remotely true.

During the time I was away from the team, I was dealing with a medical emergency that happened to someone extremely close to me. On Friday evening during the second period of the Falconers game against the Aces, my partner was serious injured in a freak accident. The coaching staff told me about the injury as soon as we were back in the locker room. They immediately agreed that where I needed to be at that time was at my partner’s side, not stuck on the other side of the country and provided every type of assistance imaginable to get me on the last flight east.

This whole situation is proof that the Falconers organization really does treat the families of all their players as important members of the Falconers family. The front office and coaching staff have worked around the clock to make sure that my partner and I had access to everything that we could possibly need, exactly the same as they have done for the wives and families of any of any of the other players. When Mr. Sampson and Georgia Martin say that this is a family-first organization, it is far more than just a marketing slogan. They know that there are more important things than hockey games, and the welfare of the player's families is at the top of the list. They fully supported my desire to be with him until he was discharged from the hospital, even though it meant missing games during a vital road trip.

Additionally, My partner and I have been completely overwhelmed by the countless messages of support that have poured in over the last few days from players from all over the league. I’ve heard from dozens of players, from guys I have played with for more than a decade to players I’ve only met since I finally joined the league. My partner and I thank each and every one of you who took the time to let us know you were thinking of us. Your thoughts and support have helped both of us during this very trying time.

Finally, I want to take this opportunity to acknowledge that, since I am now the league's first openly LGBTQ player, there are many difficult conversations that the league needs to start having about the culture of our sport. I'm hoping my coming out will help bring those conversations forward so others may feel comfortable enough to follow in my footsteps.

Thank you and I'll take a couple of questions now.

There are a couple seconds of complete silence before bedlam breaks out. Jack tenses up in his chair, fighting the urge to run for the hallway. He doesn't have to do this now; George has stressed that repeatedly as they worked to draft his statement over the last twenty-four hours.But as much as he hates situations like these, Jack has learned from painful experience that if he tries to hide, the attention and scrutiny will only get worse.

On his left, his father shifts in his seat too just before his hand clasps his shoulder reassuringly. The weight helps ground him and lets him push past the wall of sound and look at individual journalists in the room just as Coach Anderson points at one of the national hockey writers in the front row.

"Just to clarify, Jack - you are confirming that you are in a homosexual relationship, correct?"

"Yes I am,” Jack answers curtly; he really doesn’t to get bogged down in defining himself, but he doesn’t know that he has any other option.

"Does that mean you are gay, Jack?"

Jack shakes his head slightly as he ponders his answer. His desire for privacy is warring with the idea that he needs to be a standard bearer.

“I’m bisexual - and that’s all I’m going to say about the matter.” Jack pauses and decides to push his luck. “The exact details of my current relationship are between my partner and I. I won’t go into more details, not about this nor about any previous relationships I have been involved in.”

Unfortunately, the reporters aren't easily deterred and the next few questions all poke at the same area. Jack knows what they want; they want confirmation that he and Parse were really dating back in the Q, no matter how many times he repeats that he won’t discuss his past. Finally, the reporters seem to accept defeat and the next question is shouted at his father.

“Bob, how did you react to the news about your son? Did it make you worry about his future in hockey? Do you think his sexuality played a part in his overdose?”

Jack glances over at his father and barely hides a wince as he sees the storm cloud gather behind his father’s eyes. He rarely sees his father go full-on beast mode in the last decade, but Bob looks like he’s teetering right on the edge of going there.

“I never worried about Jack’s future in hockey. Ever since he first put on skates, Jack has known that he has wanted to play here in the NHL. If someone with his determination can’t make it in this league, then no one can.” Bob swallows and shoots a quick glance over a Jack, but he continues after a second.

“Now, I can’t pretend that any of the levels of hockey have been particularly supportive of anyone who is the slightest bit different. The way we develop athletes punishes anyone who suffers from mental illness or doesn't fit into the standard mold. It’s one of the many aspects of our sport that Jack and I would like to fix, for the well-being of the players and the future of the league. Teams at all levels need to do a better job nurturing their players, especially in regard to mental health and substance abuse issues.

“Jack isn’t the only player in the development leagues who has suffered because to the failures of the system. The only reason you know of his struggles at all is because of me and the spotlight that my career fixed on his shoulders from the moment he first put a blade on the ice. But for every Jack that makes headlines when they struggle, there are dozens of other equally talented prospects who you’ve never heard of; talented individuals who don’t make it to the NHL because they feel like they aren’t welcome, either because of their sexuality or because they are struggling with anxiety or other mental health problems. And that is something that everyone involved with the NHL should feel ashamed about. We need to put a significant amount of resources and attention to supporting every kid who wants to play our sport if we want to see the league thrive over the next couple of decades.”

There’s silence in the room after Bob’s pronouncement and Jack has to blink rapidly to keep tears from welling up. His father has been itching at the bit to tackle the lack of support in the development leagues ever since Jack’s overdose and it looks like that now he’s got an opening, Bob is going to seize it with both hands. After another beat of silence, Coach Anderson announces that they are going to take one more question and points at another national hockey writer who is seated in the back row.

"Jack, you said that your partner was injured on Friday, is that correct?" Jack nods even as his stomach drops. He absolutely knows this is the moment he had been trying to avoid. “By now, we’ve all seen the footage of the Samwell University game from Friday where Eric Bittle, a former linemate of yours, was badly injured in a freak accident. Is that the injury that you were referring to? Is Eric Bittle the partner you mentioned?”

Jack swallows, feeling a little grateful that the reporter framed the question that way. When they had discussed this last night, Bitty said he was OK with Jack announcing their relationship if he wanted to. But Jack waits for a minute, a furious internal debate raging in his head. As much as he wants to keep everything about Bitty private, the rational part of Jack’s mind realizes that giving out a little information may actually shield Bitty better than refusing to answer and letting the hounds loose to draw their own conclusions.

“Yes, Eric Bittle’s injury was the cause of my absence.” Jack says slowly, trying to weigh his words extremely carefully. “And yes, Eric Bittle is my partner. That is all I’m willing to confirm at this time. Right now, my concerns are making sure he is recovering from the serious injuries he sustained during his game and doing my part in the Falconer’s push to the playoffs. I do ask that people leave Eric in peace to heal and finish up his final semester at Samwell University. Thank you for your time.”

With that, Jack stands up and the group manages to shuffle awkwardly out the door despite the reporters continuing to shout questions at them. Once they have moved out of range of the press room, Jack finds himself enfolded in the middle of a gigantic, noisy group hug. Tater’s yelling something at the top of his longs that Jack can’t quite catch and everyone else is telling him how proud they are. Jack just closes his eyes and lets as much of his tension roll off of him as he can. After a minute, Jack manages to extract himself from the group, only to find himself swallowed up in a bear hug from his father.

“I am so proud of you,” his father says again in Jack’s ear. The obvious pride in his voice combines with Jack’s sense of relief, which makes Jack’s tears start to flow. He feels like he’s been moving towards this moment for years, ever since he realized that what he felt for Parse way back in juniors didn’t quite fall into the friends category. He’s finally found a family in hockey, one that accepts everything he is without question and he’s almost completely overwhelmed by it all.

One his father lets go, Jack pulls his phone out of his pocket and turns it back on. His head swims at the sheer number of notifications that he sees once it boots, but before Jack can even start to process it all, a new text alert pops up on the screen and a huge smile breaks across Jack’s face.

I saw the press conference and you were amazing sweetheart. Call me when you can. I love you so much.

Jack’s face feels like it might split apart from his smile. A huge wave of relief pours over him and he has to lean back against the wall to keep from collapsing right here in the hallway.

He’s done it. He revealed his biggest secret to the world, and yet here he is. He has a partner he wants to spend the rest of his life with, his relationship with his parents has never been stronger, and he’s currently surrounded by teammates that support him no matter what.

He wishes he could tell his 16-year-old self that one day, it really does get so much better.